


all alone is lonely (can't you hear me calling?)

by breaking_points



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Jughead Jones Needs a Hug, Leda Spews Nonsense Once More, fluff?, is it really?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2020-01-12 11:27:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18445619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breaking_points/pseuds/breaking_points
Summary: He doesn’t even remember getting the ladder; somehow he’s at her window, gazing into haunted green eyes, spilling excuses after excuses (“no rest for the wicked -”) until a ghost of a smile plays across her lips and the window opens.aka Leda shoves every metaphor she possibly can into a small plotless drabble





	all alone is lonely (can't you hear me calling?)

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! It's been a while, I know. 
> 
> So, inspiration: Insomniac by DREAMERS - a very new song, and I'm hopelessly in love with it. 
> 
> As for when this is set, I'm not really sure. Mayhaps like a little before Season 3? 
> 
> Anywho, enjoy!

He doesn’t remember the in-between, just him, alone with his thoughts, unshed tears leaking out from the pen onto the paper. He looks at the words, blurry, unintelligible, meaningless.

 

Fuck, he’s crying again.

 

 _Crybaby_ , the kids on the playground would jeer. But what did they know?

 

Did they know of the bruises on his ribs, and the invisible wounds over his heart? Did they know that his arms felt foreign to him after clutching his baby sister so tightly neither of them could breathe?

 

No, they lived in their perfect white picket fence houses, with Labrador Retrievers scampering across freshly-mowed bright green grass, and pastel bikes parked at a spotless doorstep. The thought of the dirty trailer park, tainted with smoke and laden with scars and dirty flannel would make them all recoil. They didn’t have to deal with drunken gibberish and shouted goodbyes well into the night.

 

They’d never understand.

 

But she did.

 

She always did.

 

She would always visit his table with a shy _hey Juggie,_ a Tupperware filled with slightly burnt cookies (“it was my first time all by myself!”) that were the best thing he’d ever tasted, even if because of the pearly-white smile that beamed in response to the _I love them so much Betts, can I bring some home for Jelly_?

 

It’s always been her.

 

Until -

 

He’s not even thinking straight, just running at full speed past the wrinkly blue sign advertising the authentic, all-American, shitty trailer park experience, past the diner with lights that had never dimmed in 50 years, past the empty razed lot that had seen days of laughter, spilled popcorn, and many a moonlight rendezvous.

 

He doesn’t even remember getting the ladder; somehow he’s at her window, gazing into haunted green eyes, spilling excuses after excuses (“no rest for the wicked-”) until a ghost of a smile plays across her lips and the window opens.

 

He imagines that the dragon mother has knocked herself out with a potent cocktail that he could definitely do with, if the ring of ash around his eyes were any proof. The house is silent, except for the occasional creak and shudder that he’s noticed ever since two goodbyes were made - one to despair, the other to madness.

 

He just drops onto her bed, which is warm with the dent of _her_. At his pleading look, a huff escapes her lips and she plops down to sit across from him, her light fingers unconsciously skimming across his bare leg, his breath hitching at the gesture.

 

“I -”

 

“Couldn’t sleep?” She does indeed know him better than he could ever hope to know himself.

 

“I just - it seems impossible to, knowing everything. He - he’s your dad, and, I just thought-”

 

He falters. Now that the demons that had been scraping against his heart with their pointed pitchforks are finally being released into the open, his head is throbbing. He doesn’t know if she’ll swat away at them, scoff at them, but she’s Betty _fucking_ Cooper, she treats every one of his mad mindanderings with a gentleness that is incredibly unexpected, considering the cruel life she’s been forced to live.

 

“Dads are _supposed_ to know what’s best for everyone, so when I found out that it was him, it was _him_ that told you I didn’t deserve your love, that I was trash, that - I thought, maybe, maybe it was true.”

 

He exhales and looks up, searching for a reaction. It’s been so long, it’s been _forever_ , his stupid brain should’ve figured out by now that not _everyone_ is going to leave him, she’s affirmed to him in countless ways, words, and sinful acts that nothing will pull her from him, yet -

 

“Jughead. I’m not going anywhere.”

 

There it is again. She’s had to say it again, just so that his stupid brain will stop racing on that same hamster wheel, chittering as it goes around the same loop over and over again.

 

“I was the one at fault for not being upfront about his scheming and thus hurting you where it hurt most. Besides, dads and moms and big sisters don’t always know everything. What was it you said to me, the very first time?”

 

_We’re not our parents, Betty. We’re not our families._

 

“We aren’t cast from the same moulds as them, babe. Their destiny isn’t ours. We aren’t them and we will never be.”

 

He sighs, and with that breath, he feels like every single weight that’s been sinking down and crushing his heart has finally been lifted, like a rusted anchor over an old boat finally set adrift again. But he needs _more_ , he needs to feel her touch, her warmth, her comfort once more.

 

“Hold me.”

 

“Aww, has Jug the Little Spoon finally come out of hiding?” she teases, and this time, he’s pleased to note that she’s smiling, this time. God, he’d douse all of Riverdale in gasoline and set fire to the corruptness, to the evil, just to see that smile appear again.

 

“I love you, but tell anyone about this, including - _especially_ Archie, and I’ll reconsider going to the Spring Fling.”

 

She gasps, as if that threat isn’t as hollow as can be, because he lives for her, and he loves her, and he will follow her to the ends of the earth (“whipped,” Toni likes to scoff), and he will go to this ridiculous dance, wear a suit two sizes too big, tap his feet, and drink (sadly) un-spiked punch, all for her.

 

It’s all been for her, ever since the very beginning.

 

She drapes herself over his back, and he swears their hearts are aligned and beating as one, as Twilight-esque as that sounds. She lays her head on his shoulder, and he clasps her hands over his chest.

 

Who cares about the next Scooby Doo villain?

 

For now, she’s here, and he’s here. Her little sleepy sighs are all he really needs for sustenance, he feels.

 

_I’m not going anywhere._

 

He sighs, and for the first time in many, many days, his eyes shut and his breathing evens out again.

 

He’s cured.

**Author's Note:**

> Please do comment if you liked it!


End file.
